


Crash Into Me

by Ro_Nordmann



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bee is the future, Bronn is a hipster, Bronnion, CC is the past, F/M, I know I should be writing for OYE but I'm stuck so this came instead, MTA Subway, New York City, Past Relationship(s), Pod is a pug, Strangers to Lovers, Subway horror stories were used in the creation of this story, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22733740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ro_Nordmann/pseuds/Ro_Nordmann
Summary: Grateful that the walk isn’t long, Jaime bangs on another door and loudly proclaims for all his neighbors to hear, “It’s 2AM and I’m drunk and I need some goddamn french fries right now, so open your fucking door, Bee.”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	Crash Into Me

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken two prompts from tumblr [https://dailyau.tumblr.com/] and written this JB one-shot:
> 
> ‘this person just fell asleep on me in the subway but they’re cute so whatever’ AU
> 
> ”it’s 2am and i’m drunk and i need some goddamn french fries right now so open your fucking door’ AU
> 
> Pre-readers: JailynnW & ilikeblue (yes, I tortured them with this and failed and finishing it before Valentine's Day was over.
> 
> Title taken from the Dave Matthews Band song "Crash Into Me" (Is my age showing?)

**____________________________________________________  
**

**CRASH INTO ME  
 **____________________________________________________**  
**

Jaime never thought that this would be the end of an era. His brother was moving from their shared apartment and actually settling down for the first time in his life, to live with the “love of his life.” He pushed the empty glass demanding with his distinctly raised eyebrows for a refill from the bartender.  _ Fuck. _ He couldn’t afford living in Brooklyn on his own. Not after spitting on his father’s many offers to work for him, to become his slave and then exchange his soul to become his mirror image of implacable ruthlessness.

The man ignored his request and Jaime took it as a sign to leave the place. It was getting too rowdy for his taste anyway, all those hipster bullshit with their avocado toast and non prescription glasses. He groaned out loud, feeling his back crack with the sudden movement as the barstool fell back and hit the ground. For the most part, he was ignored and he gave half-assed excuses, as he pushed through the crowd to get to the nearest exit. He clutched the right side pocket of his coat and sighed in relief feeling the outline of his cellphone. He could Uber himself out of this shit and forget about it for tonight. 

Tomorrow was another day.

Taking his phone out, someone shoved him hard and the phone fell and dropped hard on the concrete. Jaime knew that this would mean his screen was shattered and as he picked it up, he could almost cry. It wouldn’t even turn on and he got a cut on his finger from the glass. Feeling a bit woozy from leaning down, he tried to deep breaths only getting a waft of garbage, vomit and urine into his nostrils.  _ Fucking New York City and its ever present stench! _ At least it wasn’t summer or he’d be regurgitating his pathetic lunch of blueberry muffin and espresso. And that’s why he was so drunk. He needed to eat and with this going on he’d forgotten and gone ahead drinking more than he should’ve, worst of all alone. He growled at the broken glass, shoving it back into his coat.  _ New plan. _ Jaime looked both ways and saw that he was near a subway station.  _ So, train it home! _

He finds the nearest stairway and almost falls on his ass, his laces were untied and made him trip. He had to resort to touching the nasty-ass handle and he sure as hell will need a hand sanitizer bath after this. It’s not deserted, full of trash and the ever-present stench of piss. A homeless man is sleeping in a corner over cardboard with a shirt covering his face and his legs tucked in. Jaime hopes he has his MetroCard, most importantly that it has money in it. He pats his left pocket and finds his wallet, and joy he can see the yellow plastic with the blue letters easily. He strides towards the turnstile and someone blocks his way, “Swipe? Please, I need a swipe.”

_ What the actual fuck? _

“Umm, no. Excuse me,” Jaime shakes his head and walks forward with his card ready to be swiped and enter the platform. He can hear a train coming and he daydreams of being naked on his bed with a willing mouth on his hard dick. If only Cers hadn’t moved away, and broken up with him.  _ Her fucking ambition and Rhaegar’s albino cock _ . The card goes through, but the reader says swipe again. And again. The train is stopping and Jaime grunts and he almost drops the card in his haste to get through. The fourth time, it finally lets him enter and he runs to the train car. The doors almost squish him to death, but the conductor opens them allowing him to fully enter and stumble as the train immediately speeds away. 

With some difficulty, Jaime stumbles and grips the bar in the aisle once more regretting not carrying a fucking bottle of hand sanitizer and trying not to cringe as a man standing by the doors coughs up a lung without much cover and spray the whole car with his plague.  _ Asshole.  _ His head is swaying and he knows it would be better if he was sitting. Let’s be real, a fucking Uber directly to his front steps would’ve been heaven instead of riding the fucking subway.

With no audible announcements of the next stop, Jaime isn’t paying attention as his hold concentration is keeping the contents of his stomach within. The lights turn on and off and some stops later, an amateur performer serenades the whole car with his musical stylings and 4-1-1 about his Instagram and Venmo accounts. It only ended up giving him a pounding headache and he is happy for the musician to move on to the next cart to torment.

Finally, a spot opens and Jaime is sitting with his head back trying to relax. His eyes close and time slips away. He comes back when someone accidentally steps on his toes, jarring him from sleep. Fortuitously or not, this makes him aware that his been on this train awhile and he doesn’t know where the fuck he is. A giant man is sitting beside him and Jaime turns to him for assistance. His hand wipes away the slob over his mouth, as his eyes squint against the sudden brightness of the lights.

“Excuse me, man. But I’m so fucking lost... Did I miss—my stop.”

_ Blue.  _

Everything is that blue from this moment on. Eyes like he had never seen, capable of making him forget the jade jewels he’d worshipped on Cers. She can keep the albino prick for all he cared. Stomping on his heart and now his brother finding true love for the first time in his life...with Bronn of all people, with his thousands of dollars worth bike and having gourmet lattes at Gregorys Coffee while holding hands. 

_ Shit. _

_ He _ is a woman, tall as fuck, probably taller than him by a few inches.

Umm, well with those heels even a bit more. Fuck me. Her lips are a bit chapped and she’s currently abusing them, as she tries to come up with an answer. Her hands hold a canvas bag that has seen better days, but that’s New York life for us all. Her eyes lock on him and somehow she finds what she's been looking for apparently.

“You shouldn’t ride the subway alone if you’ve been drinking...it’s dangerous. You’ve been passed out the whole time I’ve been here. Do you still have your cellphone and wallet still? Anyone could’ve swiped it and you wouldn’t have felt a thing. Where are you headed to?”

_ Her _ voice.

It does things to his stomach and even lower on his nether regions. _What The Fuck._ _You need to calm down. This is important._ He tries to think and his eyes look at the sign and he groans. _Fuck!_ He’s even riding the wrong train. This isn’t going to Brooklyn… He’s in fucking Queens by now and he doesn’t know anyone here and he’s too exhausted to think about his options. Besides his phone is dead and his brother has deserted him for Bronn’s sparkly-strawberry flavored dick. 

“Umm… I’m in the wrong fucking train. Brooklyn. Downtown. I live there, not fucking Queens! Shit! This is at least two hours from my apartment—I can’t, my phone is dead and I don’t know anyone that lives here, so that I can crash there until I’m sober, awake with a fully-functioning brain. My girlfriend since forever dumped me for some albino-looking freak with purple contacts! I mean seriously! I was born with green eyes! Isn’t that what women want in a man?!? Who wants fake, freaky eyes? I know he’s a creeper and when Cers comes to her senses and I won’t be simply waiting in the sidelines ready to take her back. Fucking R train… This is what the W going the wrong fucking way...drunk, lost and without a working phone. I might as well become a hobo and start asking for money for my next fix. Even my brother is doing better than me, with his latest squeeze, wearing matching outfits and frolicking in Bryant Park with their pet, Pod, an adorable pug. Ty is living the dream, while I was trying to get lit and only ended up... Where do fuck are we?”

The woman with the most unbelievable blue eyes flushed all over, making the smattering of freckles stand out on the apple of her cheeks. It made Jaime want to lick them, but thankfully he refrained from doing so. Getting arrested for assault would be too much for this unfortunate night.

“Astoria, Queens. I-I can help you, if you want—I live near the next stop. Just a few blocks. You can call your brother, let him know you’re ok. I have a couch where you can sleep off the incoming hangover. Tomorrow is another day...you don’t have to think about how everything sucks right now.”

_ Who is this woman? Why is she so trusting?  _

Jaime stares at the woman for too long and she looks away, totally embarrassed at her proposition. She never does these things. Why would she? It’s dangerous to invite a total stranger to your apartment. Sansa will be furious, but also proud that Brienne for the first time had taken the initiative, been proactive and responsive to someone outside of her comfort zone.

“I’m Jaime. And you’re?”

“Brienne. It’s nice to meet you, J-Jaime.”

He smiles crookedly at her, knowing that it makes him look adorable or so his aunt Genna says, while attempting to pinch his cheek to death. It has the intended effect on Brienne, as she smiles back showing her crooked teeth and dimples. She’s plain looking, but her sapphire colored eyes make up for it. 

The doors open and they step out, with Brienne leading the way which allows him to gawk at her long legs, muscular calves exposed to his perusal as she expertly strides in four inch heels. And fuck him hard, she’s wearing shorts that let more of her creamy skin and he loves that it’s not winter for once. Her t-shirt is black, with holes depicting the Beatles’  _ Rubber Soul _ album cover. Every single detail makes him more attracted to this woman, this giantess with the gemstone eyes and thighs that cut snap a melon in half. 

Brienne spots an empty space in the station’s bench and proceeds to drop her bag and look in it. She takes out her black Converse sneakers and then sits on the edge. With ease she drops the heels inside the bag and puts on the more comfortable shoes. She groans in ecstasy and Jaime has to cough to hide the fact the sight is more arousing than it should be. He turns discreetly in order to hide the semi inside his pants. Once the laces are tied, she stands and he can ascertain they’re about the same height, one or two inches she has on him and it doesn’t bother him. Fucking not. It means they can fuck standing up, her legs holding him in place… yeah, this has to stop, or someone will call the cops on him for indecent exposure. He’ll end up in those flyers of the pervs that masturbate in the train. 

Jaime shakes his head in disgust, but the movement makes him feel sick. His head is killing him and his throat is asking for water, while his stomach is debating when to upchuck its contents. He breathes through his mouth knowing it will be a huge mistake taking inventory of the surrounding smells. He rubs his hands on his pants, clearing the clamminess on his palms. Brienne is ignorant of the drama going inside his head as she walks up the stairs leaving the station with the confidence of daily routine. He follows, slower dreading the churning inside him and praying he can hold in until the nearest toilet bowl.

They keep walking, now side by side, silence with meaningful glances and little smiles. It’s cute, how they’re like middle schoolers walking from after-school dismissal, going home together to do their homework, and hoping afterwards there might be more...the anticipated, first kiss.

There’s no rush, only the promise of maybe and it’s exhilarating. 

Brienne breaks the stillness, “You drool when you sleep. I have the proof on my shoulder. I was going to shove you away, but—”

It is Jaime’s turn to blush, “But? You stared at me and BAM! It was love at first sight, right? You waited until I awoke for the opportunity to sweep me off my feet and take me home, oh my valiant knight! How can I ever repay you for saving my honor?”

He drops to his knee in the middle of the sidewalk, all flourish and drama. Brienne rolls her eyes, “Get up, Jaime! We’re almost there.” 

Thankfully, there aren't’ too many witnesses to his theatrics, or so she hoped or she’d never hear the end of it. Her dating history is dismal, with the experience of Tormund, the ginger bear-man and Hyle, the pussy-ass punk who’d expected to collect after giving her the “most pleasurable night of her life.” She has no illusions about Jaime becoming more. He is a stranger in need and she was doing the samaritan-goodwill act, help your fellow man thing. It is the right thing to do and she felt for the guy after he’d spilled his drunken guts (not his gastric contents on her). Her best friend, Sansa always said that one day it would happen, like kismet. The way it had been for her and her Sandor. 

Offering her hand to help him up, their fingers brush and a warmth fills her chest and makes her body tingle. Jaime shivers in response and whispered,  _ “Le petit mort.” _

“Brienne, I have to ask—Have you ever felt like this is the moment? Like your life before this day is meaningless? Fuck, I do. Right this second. I-I need to use your bathroom. NOW!”

And that ends their significant discussion. Without delay, Brienne shows him the way to her apartment on the second floor. Jaime dashes to the bathroom and slams the door. She turns the lamp beside the couch and searches for the painkillers and a glass of water. Looking around, she finds some pieces of clothing and picks them up, throwing them in her laundry basket. She can hear Jaime’s painful spasms and dry heaves. Cringing and hoping he can aim, she isn’t looking forward to going in there after him.

Thinking ahead, Brienne searches for clean clothes that they both can change into and sheets and a pillow for the couch. Her queen size bed mocks her, reminding her that there’s space for two in there. She glares at the inanimate object, as if the stare will quiet the thoughts. 

Her shower turns on and she knows the clothes she holds are more than needed elsewhere. She knocks and opens the door, coming face to face with Jaime in his boxers.  _ Oh seven hells! _ He’s not Tormund, with bulging muscles and a hairy pelt for skin. And he’s not sporting a beer gut, bulging out all pudgy and soft, like Hyle who pretended to be bloated from taking some imaginary medication. Her eyes feast on his defined muscles, adequate body hair, and golden skin. 

“Ok, my orchid knight, I think you’ve seen enough to your eyes’ delight. I’ll take those. I’ll be quick, so you can shower after me.” 

His fingers linger on her arm, while his green eyes are more awake. The drunken stupor is out of his system. He can see the ruddiness of her skin and the tremble of her limbs. She mumbles her thanks and walks away, closing the door. Jaime grins at himself, staring at the vanity’s mirror, which is getting foggy from the steam coming out the shower. 

“She wants me. And I want her. Maybe Ty was right all along. Maybe it’s that simple.”

* * *

The lights are off. Brienne is trying to pretend that there’s nothing amiss, most of all the other person in the room. Nothing divides them, as her studio apartment only has walls that separate the bathroom from the rest of the space. Her small kitchen is the corner, with a small sink, barely a counter space with limited storage and a gas stove. The only thing she loves about her dingy apartment is the fact, it’s her space and that she can step out into the fire escape and look at her neighborhood. 

She closes her eyes, willing for sleep to take hold, but she hears the creaking of her old couch and finds comfort knowing she’s not the only one still awake. She toys with the idea of offering the other side of her bed, but keeps it to herself. When she’s closer to oblivion, Jaime jostles on her couch and groans. He curses, having stubbed his toe against her coffee table. 

“Brienne?”

“Jaime?”

“I can’t sleep.”

They both chuckle. Jaime waits for her response, but she stays quiet on her end and it makes him want to hear her voice in the darkness of their shared space.

“Why?”

Brienne feels tempted to rise and turn the lights on. She takes a deep breath, centering herself and finding the right words. She looks at her alarm clock. It’s 4 AM and she’s got to get up at 8AM. 

“Do you still think it’s ok not calling your brother?”

Jaime sits up and looks in her direction willing her to do the same. He is wearing her clothes, they smell of her and he wishes to keep the scent with him, bottled it up as a keepsake.

“Answer the question, Brienne.”

Brienne frowns and shoves the covers off her body and stands up. With a few steps she’s right beside him and sits, leaving a space between them.

“I don’t know why… you were lost. You needed someone and I was there. You leaned on me and I let you for what felt like hours. I-I’ve never done this—bring a stranger into my room. I’ve only ever been with two men and I knew them beforehand. I-I thought I knew them, but people wear masks and show you what they want. You—You’re different. I know things about you that you’d probably prefer not many know, much less, as a first impression. It’s not pity either. I’m being your friend, when there was no one there to hold you. Yes, I’m taking a risk. But isn’t being alive all about taking that extra step?”

“Fuck, Bee. You sure make me feel all tingly and shit. I want to fucking kiss you right now, but that’s probably the wrong thing to say. So give me your hand, I’ll kiss it and hope you’ll grant me a future date. Well, that’s if you want...too. We can be friends first. After all, I need to un-fuck my life first, but please don’t shut me out of your life.”

Brienne finds his hand and grips it. 

“Ok.”

Jaime squeezes back and finds her pinky with his own.

“That’s a promise.”

* * *

It’s been six months since their fateful meeting inside a train car. It was unreal that the ordinary act of falling asleep on someone would lead to a sleepover and the dawning of their tumultuous friendship-courtship. Jaime moved out of his apartment, leaving it to his brother after his breakup from Bronn. They’d break up every two weeks, so it would be better for Tyrion to keep the apartment just in case. 

As for Cers, she’d left the albino penis for an older, rich diseased-infected penis. Jaime hit ignore on his cellphone once more. He was more than thankful that he’d moved on and found a new place away from his past. His new job as mentor to high-schoolers was more than satisfying and he totally understood the appeal it had for Brienne.

He picks up the basketball and drops it on the cart, as Brienne finishes with her all-girls group. They’ve had two sessions back-to-back and he’s glad it is almost the weekend. He’s been planning on asking her for their official night out, after he’s interrogated her best friend to death about the perfect date. 

Brienne fist bumps with her team, as they start to leave. She is sweaty and achy, wishing for a long shower and a cup of tea. The towel cleans off most of the dampness, as she writes down some progress notes for her supervisor to look over. Some of the girls on her team have made great strides in controlling their anger and learning to be part of a group. It makes her feel like she’s part of something greater than herself, as she helps these girls grow and find themselves in playing sports. It’s what helped her come with losing her younger brother to illness and an absent mother figure. Her father couldn’t deal with both deaths, neglecting Brienne, leaving her vulnerable to bullying and other dangers. Coach Goodwin saw her potential and saved her from becoming another bleak number in the city’s statistics of truancy and delinquency or worse. 

“Let’s go home.”

Jaime knows it’s too soon for them to move in together. But he makes do with the fact they live in the same neighborhood, that Brooklyn is but a distant memory and that Astoria is his new home, what he truly means is that Brienne is home.

* * *

The phone is broken on the floor. Fucking texts kept coming and he couldn’t take it anymore. He should’ve changed the number when he got the new one. Cers had sent him image after image, taunting him with his past mistakes. He doesn’t want this to mar the future he wants with Brienne.

He finds the unopened vodka bottle Ty had gifted him when he moved to his new apartment, so very similar to Bee’s. One distinct difference is the presence of a dead plant that Bronn had assured him would take care of itself. He kicks the pot and it breaks, too. There’s dirt all over the floor and he’s too tired to clean it up. 

A problem for another day.

Jaime gulps down half the bottle, regretting it immediately. He has not much to eat and this will go through him. He dozes off, what seems like ten minutes. The sirens from the police and fire department wake him and he makes out that’s almost 2AM and he’s fucking hungry. He wants french fries and a chocolate milkshake. Stumbling out of his apartment, he leaves the door open and keeps his hands on his side, the walls guiding his steps. 

Grateful that the walk isn’t long, Jaime bangs on another door and loudly proclaims for all his neighbors to hear, “ It’s 2AM and I’m drunk and I need some goddamn french fries right now, so open your fucking door, Bee.” Brienne shoves him inside her apartment and apologizes to Ms. Olenna from across the hall, the typical cat-lady that knows everyone’s business.

And that’s how Jaime Fucking Lannister finds himself back on Brienne Fucking Tarth’s couch. That’s how their love began and that’s how it will continue to be, a give and take, of misunderstanding and confessions, of healing hand holdings in the wee hours of the morning, a forged friendship born out of kindred spirits.

By morning, Jaime is sleeping on the other side of the bed, with his arm over Brienne’s belly and his nose nuzzling her neck. Leftover fries and spoiled milkshakes are sitting on top of her coffee table, while secrets were whispered in the night and bonds cemented. No, this was no stalled, one-night stand. A contented smile in each other’s faces, after they’ve crashed into each other. And there was no room in-between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my nonsense. If it pleases you kudos are accepted, and comments enjoyed. Until next time ;-)


End file.
